IF ANYONE deserves to be a fabulously wealthy rock star, it's Cathal Coughlan. For the past 15 years, he's churned out classic after classic, with nary a hint of a high-maintenance blonde, a spell in tax exile or a week in the Priory. It's a state of affairs that hasn't gone unnoticed - Coughlan's new website containing plenty of dark mutterings about that lipglossed she-devil, Shania Twain.

This is his second album since consigning Fatima Mansions to the same dustbin as Microdisney, and it's obvious from the start that it's been made with bugger-all concession to today's prevailing trends.

While all around him get looped up, 'The Ghost Of Limehouse Cut' finds Coughlan accompanied by nothing more hi-tech than a twangy guitar and a smattering of percussion. A defiantly old-fashioned tale of love, injustice and loss, it confirms his position as one of Ireland's master storytellers.

Thankfully, the Leesider's brand of worthiness is never dull - 'Out Among The Ruins' offsetting its dark subject matter with sublime bursts of melody, and 'Frankfurt Cowboy Yodel' alternating between faux cocktail-bar sophistication and MDMA wig-out. Honest.

While one can only speculate about what he's been ingesting recently, 'Officer Material' finds that honeyed growl of his straying into Nick Cave territory. Elsewhere, there are flashes of Scott Walker ('Payday'), Angelo Badalamenti ('N.C.') and, curiously, Donald Fagen ('The Bacon Singer').

As you've probably deduced by now, the Y2K Cathal Coughlan has done away with the ferocious sonic assault of old. There are a few stray bits of fuzzbox guitar on 'Whitechapel Mound', but otherwise the bile comes in carefully measured doses.

Which, from a commercial point of view, is pretty academic. The only place where Black River Falls is going to go quadruple-platinum and win eight Grammies is in a parallel universe. For those of us who believe, though, he will always be the anti-Shania.